


Fragments

by LawofJo



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Post-Calamity Ganon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, story time with their son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawofJo/pseuds/LawofJo
Summary: “Cato.” Zelda turned him around so he was facing her, moving his blonde bangs away from his eyes. “I believe… it’s time we tell you about the Great Calamity.”The sole two of the prophesied souls who survived the Calamity recount the tale to the only person who has never heard it: Their son.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Fragments

Zelda could not help gazing upon her little family with pride as they seated themselves around the fire following their dinner. Link had truly outdone himself this time, spoiling them with a scrumptious steak and potatoes patter fit for royalty. It was hardly the accurate title for them at the moment, and a title neither he nor herself were in a hurry to reestablish.

They were happy. Happy as cozy moles snug underground in their cottage on the edge of Hateno Village, Link’s childhood home he had reclaimed for himself after his century in the Shrine of Resurrection. Happier when she tearfully accepted her former knight’s request to be her protector and partner for the rest of their lives, as the ring adorning her left hand reminded her every day. And even happier still when their little paradise grew, first in the form of their domestic wolf Shade. And then…

“Cato,” Zelda called gently, watching the small child eye their untouched dessert of fruitcake. The clever boy had been just about to push a stool to the counter so he could reach it when he withdrew sheepishly, sticking out his lower lip as he glanced at his mother. “Come sit with us.”

Link turned away from poking at the fireplace to investigate his son’s mischief, a small chuckle escaping his throat. _“I would have done the same at his age,”_ he signed at his wife, a glint of humor in his eyes. Sparkling blue sapphire eyes that Cato mirrored when he looked to his father, afraid he might be in trouble. But Link simply pushed the cake further back on the counter and away from his grabbing fingers before lifting the child up and bouncing him lightly as he carried him over to the couch.

Zelda’s heart swelled with such love, pure unconditional love as Cato was placed in her lap. Wrapping him in the same blanket she had around herself, she noticed his eyes beginning to look heavy. “The nights are longer now, aren’t they my love?” she whispered, kissing the top of his golden head as he nestled into her chest. Cato’s left thumb immedietely went to its default position in his mouth, a habit Zelda was not particulary keen on, but decided to wait a couple more years to see if he grew out of it on his own. “But if you fall asleep, you’ll miss the cake,” she pointed out, tapping the end of his nose with her index finger, and Cato forced his eyes open wider at that. But he didn’t leave her embrace. In fact he burrowed himself even deeper when a freezing gust of winter wind blew through the front window, flapping the curtains violently against the pane.

“Link, the window!” Zelda shouted over the wind, unable to take care of it herself while Cato clung so tightly to her. Shade jumped up from the rug in front of the fire and bounded towards Link, barking up a storm as Link rushed to pin the coverings down. A sharp wordless shout emitted from him, signing “ _Stay”_ to his pet, but Shade was far too worked up now. He pawed on all fours around the living area, dangerously close to the display mounts housing Link’s most treasured weapons. Some he himself wielded, some having been wielded by others.

“No!” Zelda cried out, but it was too late. Their wolf had run straight into the display wall adorned with four very precious armaments. A trident, a feathered bow, a very large stone smasher, and a shield and scimitar all went clattering unceremoniously to the floor in a heap. Link whirled away from the mended window, his eyes blazing in fury at the mess Shade had made. And it was then that Cato finally jumped up, padding over to them.

“Don’t be mad,” his tiny voice begged, sliding to the floor and latching his arms around Shade’s furry neck, the wolf having ceased at once upon Link’s icy glare. “Please, Papa?”

Link’s shoulders deflated, but his deep frown remained fixed as he pointed forcefully, ordering Shade silently from the room. Trained to obey, Shade’s eyes drooped and his tail lowered to his legs as he dislodged himself from Cato’s grip and climbed the stairs to the loft, presumably to settle down for the night after his flurry of activity.

“Oh no,” Zelda sighed sadly, rising from the couch to help with the pile of weapons on the floor. “We swore we wouldn’t touch them again, didn’t we?”

Cato eyed the pile with newfound interest. He had always been curious about the swords and spears his father sported on their many treks into the woods. But never before had he given these mounted treasures that he had walked and run past so many times in his short life a second thought. The trident’s rubies glittered in the firelight, the shield gleamed like lightning, and the smasher weighed far more than he did. Bows had always been his favorite, particularly the elastic part his mischievous little hands would yank on. But when he reached for it, his father quickly snatched it away.

“Papa!”

“Link, he’s just curious!” Zelda cried, surprised by her husband’s sudden flare of anger towards their child.

 _“They’re not toys,”_ Link signed with tight fingers, turning to hang the bow back in its rightful place.

“I know that, but you let him hold your own blades. You even let him hold the Master Sword!”

 _“This is different.”_ His voice remained silent as always, but his expression and stiff posture alone caused Cato to hide behind his mother’s legs, tugging her skirt over his face. _“You know this is different,”_ Link reiterated to Zelda, who stood her own ground.

She bit her lip, her eyes scanning the floor and landing on the Daybreaker shield, then let out a long breath. “Link, did you honestly never think Cato would wonder about the only four weapons in this house we never use?”

“I wanna see…” Cato sniffled and let out a tiny whimper, causing Zelda to drop to one knee and pull him close, pressing her cheek against his. He was still so young, not even four years old. He didn’t need to know yet. Perhaps he would not be able to make sense of it until he was older. But as Zelda met Link’s eyes, she knew they were both thinking the same thing. They did not want to be those parents who kept their painful pasts a secret from their children. Who tried to push on with their lives and bury their trauma, pretending it never happened until the strain of that repressed grief manifested itself in destructive ways. They did not deserve that, and Cato deserved it least of all. What their sweet, precious miracle did deserve was the truth. All of it. The sooner he knew, and the more they talked about it, the easier it would be for all of them in time.

Link picked up the feathered bow thoughtfully, his fingers running over the grey, blue and yellow colors. The Champions. Their fallen friends. Their stories needed to be kept alive, not just put on display like trophies. They were real people, people who had meant so much to himself and Zelda. He saw his wife’s eyes mist over the longer she stared at the scimitar and he reached for her, cupping her cheek with his hand. And he nodded.

_Go ahead. It’s okay._

“Cato.” Zelda turned him around so he was facing her, moving his blonde bangs away from his eyes. “I believe… it’s time we tell you about the Great Calamity.”

The little boy wiped his nose on his hand, looking a bit bewildered. “Clam-iny?”

Zelda couldn’t help letting a smile cross her lips. “No darling, ‘Calamity’. It means something very scary – and very sad – that hurt a lot of people. And many of those people died trying to stop it.”

Link slowed his signing to help his young son follow, _“This Calamity happened a hundred years ago. Your mother and I were there.”_ After Zelda repeated his words for clarity, Cato’s brow creased a bit in confusion.

“But people who are a hundred are old,” he blurted out. “Like Granny Impa.”

Link bit his lip to keep from snickering. _“You’re right,”_ he signed, _“we should look old.”_

“A lot happened to get your father and I to where we are today.” Zelda’s gaze went back to the weapons on the floor. “And we lost so much.”

“These aren’t Papa’s?” Cato asked, keeping his distance from the pile so as to not make his father angry again.

Link shook his head, his chest suddenly feeling very heavy. _“These belong to our best friends.”_

“How come they don’t keep them at their houses?”

Zelda felt her throat tighten. “Link, maybe this is too soon.” Not just for Cato, but for herself as well. Everyone in Hyrule they had come into contact with already knew about the Calamity, even young children were at least vaguely familiar with it through tales passed down by their parents and grandparents. Cato, however, knew nothing. And Zelda knew it was going to be difficult for her to have to fully recount the most horrific blight on her life. And Link, who was still missing pieces of his memories to this day, who still asked her questions about people and events he could not quite place in his mind– this had to be overwhelming for him as well.

If it was, he didn’t show it, true to his desire to be the strong one in difficult situations. _“He needs to know.”_ The dance of his fingers was so certain and deliberate that Zelda couldn’t help chastising herself for being so selfish. Of course they could not keep this from their boy, no matter how far she needed to be pushed outside of her comfort zone.

“I have an idea.” She got up from the floor and went to her work desk, fetching a stack of blank paper from the left-hand drawer. Pulling a pencil out from beneath a haphazard pile of books, she returned to Cato’s side and handed the materials to Link. “It’s difficult to convey everything to him in Sign. Maybe you could show him.”

Link understood instantly, the corners of his mouth upturning at how brilliant his wife was. Spreading out the first blank page on the floor, he took up the pencil and beckoned his son closer. Cato looked to his mother first, who nodded encouragingly, before slowly walking over and kneeling beside the paper. Eyes focused and full of wonder, he watched the dance of his father’s talented hand sketch out four rough drawings on each corner of the page.

 _“Can you guess what these are?”_ Link signed once he set his pencil down.

“A bird,” Cato pointed out. “An elephant. A lizard. A… horse?”

“Camel,” Zelda corrected him gently. “Those are the Divine Beasts. A long time ago, a fortune teller warned the king and queen of Hyrule about the return of an enemy they thought long gone: Calamity Ganon. These four Beasts were to slay him and protect the kingdom from certain destruction. But that’s not all.”

Link was already at work, drawing a crude replica of her face with a symbol of the sacred Triforce beside it. Then he drew a soldier with a sword bearing the familiar hilt of the blade of evil’s bane.

“At the center of this prophecy, those who played the most crucial role in Hyrule’s defense, was a princess and a knight.”

“Papa!” Cato cried out, pointing excitedly. “That’s your sword!”

Link let out a soft sound of pride at his son’s astuteness, rubbing the top of his head and mussing his hair. Then his hand fell limp at his side, as if the burden of his destiny had overtaken him all over again. He pointed to the drawing of the knight, then pointed to himself.

“That’s you?” the child asked, gazing at his father like he was a god among men. Link nodded, then pointed to the drawing of the girl with the Triforce symbol. Cato stared at it only for a moment, then swiveled around to look at Zelda.

“Mama?”

“Yes, sweet one.” Zelda’s voice had grown husky with emotion, but she was determined to press on. “Your father and I are the knight and princess in this story.”

“You’re a princess?” Cato’s gaze of adoration now shifted to her. “And you live in the big castle?”

“I did. But I am no longer a princess. At least, not now.” She moved closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “And by blood, my little love, you are as much a prince of Hyrule as I am queen.”

“Why doesn’t anyone call you ‘Queen’.”

“Because I have been gone for a very long time. And I cannot assume my place until I have gained the trust of the people that I can rule.”

“Why don’t they trust you?” Now Cato sounded a bit angry. “You’re nice, you give food to people, you play games, and you take care of me when I’m sick.” He dove into her arms, wrapping himself around her middle. “But I don’t want you to leave and go live in the big castle without me. Or Papa.”

“I would never dream of it,” Zelda said, snuggling with him. “You and Papa are my life now, and you will always come first.” Link reached over and took her hand, squeezing it lightly and giving her the strength to go on with their tale. “Back then, however, the princess had many important tasks in assuring that the Calamity would be defeated. First, she gathered four people to pilot the Divine Beasts.”

Cato crawled back onto the floor to watch Link create four new sketches to assist Zelda’s storytelling. Beside the elephant, he drew a Zora. The bird, a Rito. The lizard, a Goron. And the camel, a Gerudo warrior.

“Mipha,” Zelda explained, pointing to the Zora first. “Revali. Daruk. And Urbosa. Together, with the knight— your Papa— they were the Champions. The leaders of the troops defending the kingdom.”

 _“And these,”_ Link signed, gesturing to the weapons beside them. _“Were the arms they used to fight.”_

“And they did fight. Right up to… the very end.”

“Mama?” Cato grew concerned when his mother’s eyes glimmered in the firelight with tears about to spill down her cheeks.

“I’m alright,” Zelda insisted, furiously blinking her eyes dry as she swiped at the drops that escaped. “The reason we have these arms is because the Champions— our friends— were killed in battle.”

“Oh…” Cato’s thumb went back into his mouth, sucking anxiously. For several moments, he didn’t ask any more questions, perhaps afraid of making his mother upset again. Ironically, it was Link who finally broke the silence, taking up the bow Cato had been drawn to earlier.

 _“This belonged to Revali.”_ He signed a letter “R” and mimed a Rito’s beak, and Cato nodded in comprehension.

“He was the most skilled archer I have ever known,” Zelda added.

“More than you?” Cato raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh yes, much more than me,” Zelda chuckled, that small burst of humor softening the pit in the center of her stomach. “I don’t think you would have liked him much though. He was not a fan of your father’s incomparable skill as a soldier.” She sighed in remembrance, shaking her head at the memory of all the petty quarrels and standoffs. “Revali always strove to be second to none. He was a great warrior who loved his people dearly.”

 _“In those ways, I did admire him,”_ Link signed, bringing a small smile to his wife’s face. He handed the bow to Cato, who held it as best he could in his small hands. With a humored grin, Link held up three fingers.

“Whoa! It can shoot _three_ arrows?! Really?!”

“What have you done?” Zelda muttered in an undertone to her husband as Cato began to bounce happily while hugging the bow to his chest. “Now he’s going to want it for himself.”

Link held up a hand to her, then extended his other hand to Cato. The little boy ceased bouncing and his face fell, placing the bow back in his father’s grip.

“Sorry.” His eyes scanned the floor before toddling over to grab the stone smasher’s hilt. “Can I try this one?”

“You can certainly try,” Zelda’s voice shook with laughter. “Even your father has trouble with that one. Though I’m sure Daruk would be ecstatic to know you tried his Boulder Breaker on for size.”

Link let out a low grunt worthy of the former Goron chief, signing _“’Another little guy!’”_ and Zelda laughed even harder.

“That was Daruk’s nickname for your father. He was such a jovial Goron with a huge heart. You just always knew that whenever you were with him, he would keep you safe.” She smoothed down Cato’s hair, “Once when you were a baby, your father took you out hunting with him in the baby sling. A pack of bokoblins tried to attack you both, but your father was able to shield you from harm–”

“The shield!” Cato cried out, pointing eagerly when Link stood and slammed his fists together, Daruk’s famous protection igniting around him.

“Exactly!” Zelda replied in equal ardence. “This protection used to belong to that dear Goron chief.” Link’s face instantly fell, his arms falling limply at his sides before slumping back to the floor sadly. Gripping the pencil almost too forcefully, he made a large ‘X’ through the drawings of Daruk and Vah Rudania, then did the same to Revali and Vah Medoh.

“Link,” Zelda whispered. “If you need to stop, we can.”

“Stop what?” Cato asked, his eyes glued to the paper on the floor. “What happened to the Zora? And the Ge– Geru–?”

“Gerudo,” Zelda clarified, watching apprehensively as Link soundlessly hoisted up the Boulder Breaker and mounted it back in its place. For a moment he stood with his back to them, his hand pressed to the cold iron, completely still.

“Link?”

He turned slightly, raising his hands to his chest. _“He couldn’t protect himself.”_

“I know,” Zelda sighed, biting on her lower lip to force back the oncoming tears. “I know, love. And he would never have hesitated to give his life.” Her lips spread into a shaky smile, “Just like someone else I know.”

Cato was quiet again, glancing between his parents as his fingers nervously went to his mouth. He was liking this story about their brave friends and the big battles they fought, but he had also never seen his mother and father so sad before. If their friends had been killed… that meant they were never coming back. He understood that now after the many beasts his father had slain, as well as the many creatures sacrificed for his mother’s elixirs. But none of them had ever made them sad like this.

Finally Link huffed, blinking hard as he returned to the floor beside his son. _“I can’t leave you hanging, now can I?”_ he mouthed, scooping up Cato and pressing his forehead to his. _“Let’s finish what we started.”_

“Mipha,” Zelda went on, her shoulders relaxing at Link’s return to his seemingly normal self. She pointed to the sketch of the Zora princess and pilot of Vah Ruta. “She was a princess just like me, and we bonded over many of the same struggles we faced as daughters of old, proud kingdoms.” Her throat grew tight, imagining the calm assuring smile of the gentle yet agile Zora. “But I feel she handled herself far more gracefully than I ever did. She was–”

Zelda looked up at Link for guidance, finding an extremely anguished expression instead. Link, too, was gazing at the drawing of Mipha in much the same grieved way he gazed up at her statue in the center of Zora’s Domain, clutching Cato tighter against his chest. She bit her quivering lip before sliding the paper closer to him.

“Go on,” she whispered. “You were much closer with her than I was.”

“Papa?” Cato asked expectantly. “Who was she?”

There was no easy way to explain so his son would understand. Goddesses, even Link himself didn’t fully grasp the scope of it within the process of piecing together his memories from a century prior. Zelda was right, Mipha was graceful. So kind, yet there was fire in her that ignited when the time arose. And there was more, much more. A question that to this day he did not know the answer to, pertaining to the glittering sea blue armor in his closet upstairs. How did he even begin?

Taking the pencil, he felt his fingers shaking slightly as he lowered it to a blank spot on the paper. Holding Cato against him with his non-dominant arm, he began to write down the jumbled thoughts in his mind.

 _“Mipha was a healer. She had an amazing ability that let her heal any injury, and she would always do it without question. But she also held her own in battle with this trident.”_ Link set down the pencil so he could pick up the gleaming Lightscale Trident, sleek yet with quite an amount of heft to its weight, and far too heavy for Cato to carry on his own. As he placed it in Cato’s small hands, he was reminded of a much younger Prince Sidon attempting to wield a trident to help in battle. Link smiled– he grew into his place in the world, just as Cato would someday.

 _“I knew Mipha when I was very young. She was one of my best friends growing up. But I got busy with soldier training and stopped seeing her as much. She was…”_ He stopped, pressing the pencil lead so forcefully into the paper he thought he might break it off. There had always been a softness in Mipha’s voice, no matter how she was truly feeling inside, making him believe even for a moment that everything was going to be alright. Even when it very much wasn’t, for Hyrule or for herself.

But did he truly…? He didn’t know. Perhaps he had never known.

 _“She meant a lot to me. And I meant a lot to her too.”_ That was all there was to it. Zelda had not looked away in any semblance of awkwardness, but read his words intently before letting out a sad sigh and reaching for his hand.

“Oh Link…” He hung his head, a tear falling from the end of his nose to splatter on the paper, right between Mipha and her Divine Beast.

“Was she shiny, Papa?” Cato inquired innocently. “The Zoras are all really shiny.”

 _“Yes, she was… shiny,”_ Link mouthed, planting a kiss on Cato’s cheek, cradling him close as if he were also going to leave him like Mipha had. Like all four of them had. Like Zelda would have had he showed up even a day too late to retrieve her from Ganon’s hold. That sense of loss, that loneliness he had felt in the wild was something he never wanted to feel again as long as he lived. And while his life was so much happier now, his heart feeling both lighter and fuller than ever before, Link still feared it was a lie. That one day he would awaken and find himself in solitude by a campfire beneath a night sky peppered with the malice swirling above Hyrule Castle’s ruins.

He must have returned the grip of the hand in his a bit too hard because he then felt Zelda cover them with her other hand and rub them comfortingly. “I’ll hang up the Trident.” Rising from the floor, she took it from Cato’s hands, who then latched his arms around his father’s neck, and hung it carefully beside the Boulder Breaker. Luckily, Shade seemed to have done no damage to them and they commanded respect and elegance as much as ever. And as much as Zelda wanted to end their tragic tale here, the two empty mounts that remained would never have allowed it. Nor would the spirit of a woman she could only describe as a surrogate mother.

“Just a couple more left here.” Her mouth was dry, her voice deep and raspy with emotion as she bent down and picked up the beautifully ornate shield. “The Daybreaker,” she explained to a silent Cato, hanging it carefully before she retrieved the blade with the golden hilt next. “And the Scimitar of the Seven. These belonged to Urbosa, the Gerudo Chief.”

“Is she just like Lady Riju?” Cato asked. He had only been to Gerudo Town a couple of times, for he found the little vai outfit he had to wear too itchy, but Riju was always friendly and rather playful with him as she was with all the children of the town.

“Not exactly, love. Urbosa was a very different ruler of her people, yet possessed the same strength all those of the Gerudo chieftain bloodline do.” Zelda sat back down once the scimitar was returned to its place, and Cato crawled away from Link, whose eyes were still downcast, to flop into her inviting arms.

“I lost my mother when I was not much older than you. Remember, we went to see her grave?” Cato nodded, and Zelda swallowed hard against a lump in her throat before she continued. “Urbosa was also very close with my mother, and after she died, I looked to her as… that person in my life that I was missing. I suppose I needed that to cling to just to get me through–”

Her voice caught, and Link finally glanced up to see Zelda dashing at the corners of her eyes with her finger. Instantly, he moved the paper aside so he could slide closer to her, their son in-between them.

 _“Your mother,”_ Link signed, _“was under so much pressure. From her father. And the whole kingdom.”_

“The power I needed to seal away Ganon was lost to me. I—I felt worthless compared to the other Champions. And especially to your father.” Link shook his head vigorously, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before mouthing, _“I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you.”_

Cato squirmed between them, uncomfortable at his parents’ display of affection towards each other, his voice piping up once more. “Did you find your power, Mama?”

“I’m getting to that part,” Zelda replied, lifting him up so he was in her lap again. At that moment, she needed him as an anchor far more than he needed her. “But Urbosa, she always told me that I was right where I needed to be. Her ‘little bird’, which she called me just like my mother had.” The mere mention of the endearment sent a fresh round of tears springing to Zelda’s eyes, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “In many ways, she was the last link I had to her. Even more so than Father.”

“Don’t cry, Mama.” Cato dove against her chest and hung on tight, as if the harder he clung to her the better she would feel. “I’m sorry. I won’t touch the weapons again. I… I don’t want you to be sad.”

“Oh it’s not that, little one,” Zelda shuddered out, holding on just as fiercely, her fingers combing through his fine golden hair akin to her own. “I want you to ask questions. And I want you to know the story of the Champions and the Great Calamity. But for me– and for your father– it’s not just a story. Nor is it just a moment in Hyrule’s history. It was… a very real and painful event that impacted our lives, our minds, and our souls. And as much as we want to tell you everything from our own points of view, it’s hard. It’s so _so_ hard for me to speak of this war, and these people, without falling to pieces. Please forgive me, Cato.”

 _“Forgive me, too.”_ Link mustered in a whisper, wrapping both his wife and son closely against his chest. Normally Cato would squirm uncomfortably when sandwiched inbetween his parents’ dual embraces, whining that he couldn’t breathe. Tonight, he welcomed their warmth, bringing one of his little arms up to wrap around his father’s neck, his shirt collar just a little wet from his mother’s tears. The magnitude of loss and grief was quite lost on Cato, but what he did understand was that his poor parents needed a hug. And so he hugged them as tightly as he could, hoping it would make them smile again.

“I’m sorry,” the boy repeated when the three of them released each other several moments later.

“My dearest, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Zelda insisted, cupping his face in her hand. “Yes, we are very hurt and we’ve lost so much, but… it is nothing compared to everything we have gained.”

“Like what?”

 _“Peace,”_ Link spelled out before bringing his hands together in the appropriate Hylian sign.

“Our home,” Zelda added. “Our friends who are still with us, like Granny Impa, Purah and Robbie. Our new friends and allies– Lady Riju, Prince Sidon, Teba and Yunobo. Paya, of course. Shade. And most of all, you.”

 _“You are the reason we have kept going,”_ Link mouthed, holding Cato’s hand in both of his. _“This future that we fought for, it is all for you, son.”_

Cato nodded, then turned to Zelda. “Mama? Now are you gonna tell me how you got your magic?”

Zelda couldn’t help laughing, taken aback by her son’s one track mind, yet not surprised. “Want to skip to the good part, don’t you?”

“Did you kill a bunch of moblins and lynels?” Cato asked, excitedly sitting up on his knees. “Did you fight them off with a big sword like Papa?”

“No dear, not at all,” Zelda shook her head. “The power I inherited is from Hylia herself. In many ways, I am her, and her being dwells within me.” Link was sketching on the paper again, a dark mass with a head that vaguely resembled a boar taking shape. “Ganon, at his core, is the very essence of darkness. And my gift from the Goddess is pure light. Only this, and the Master Sword, can end Ganon’s reign.”

Two crude figures appeared on the page, one in a dress and long hair, the other holding a sword poised to strike.

“Your Papa was ready to die to protect me. He would have done anything to ensure I lived to fulfill my duty.”

 _“Zelda,”_ Link looked up at her with a pained expression, dropping the pencil to sign. _“Do you really believe what I did that day was only out of my duty as a knight? That I thought of you as the Princess who must carry out her destiny and nothing more?”_

Zelda could practically feel her heart break, “No, Link. I know better now, and I have for quite some time.” Cato was puzzled, unable to catch most of his father’s passionate rapidfire signing. But he knew that look in their eyes, his mouth grimacing as he identified it as the look they usually exchanged before they kissed– _yuck._

“I loved your Papa. So much so that not even a hundred years could change that. And it was when he gave his life to save mine that my divine power awakened.”

 _“And your Mama saved me in return,”_ Link added, never taking his eyes off of her, transfixed by that same fire in her jade orbs she possessed long before the Calamity and would still long after. _“I was so stubborn.”_

“You still are.”

 _“I would not be here if it weren’t for her power. None of us would.”_

“So your father was taken to the shrine on the Great Plateau to heal.” Zelda took the pencil and drew a rectangular box with a figure inside it. “And I faced Ganon alone, my power buried deep within him. And the two of us stayed that way— never aging, never changing— for a whole hundred years.”

“That’s why you don’t look old?”

“That’s why we don’t look old.”

As Cato examined the picture of Ganon and his parents, Link slid himself closer to his wife and kissed her lips deeply. _“You are the true hero of this story,”_ he mouthed when they parted. _“I hope you always remember that.”_

“I will try,” she whispered. They were cut off by a loud yawn, the two of them smirking down at Cato as he rubbed his eyes.

“I thought it was gonna be cooler than that,” he mumbled with disappointment evident in his tone.

“I suppose it is getting late,” Zelda noted, standing to brush the dust off her skirt before lifting Cato up in her arms.

“What about my fruitcake?”

“We’ll let you have a piece for breakfast,” Zelda’s eyes glinted mischievously. “How about that?”

“It’s a deal!” Cato chirped happily. Link followed them up to the loft where Cato’s bed was waiting, as was Shade curled up on the rug beneath the moonlit window. He whined up at his master, ears still drooped in shame, and Link let out a sigh as he stooped to scratch his head.

“You know he can’t stay mad at you, boy,” Zelda cooed at Shade, settling Cato down on the mattress. Taking up the sheets and tucking them around him, she unfurled the woolen blanket at the foot of the bed and draped it to shield him from the bitterly cold night.

“Can we go look for star pieces tomorrow?” Cato asked, his eyes fixed on the cloudy night sky.

“Perhaps, if it’s not too cold.” Zelda frowned in exaggeration, “But it’s going to be very boring, Cato. Lots of sitting and waiting.”

“That’s okay, Papa showed me how to catch fireflies.” He slithered down further into his covers, glancing up at his mother as the candlelight framed her golden head like a halo. She really _was_ a princess. A princess whose eyes still looked very sad.

“Are you okay, Mama?” Cato asked tiredly, his own blue eyes appearing worried under his drooping lids.

Zelda bit her lip, searching for the answer she felt was truest. “I… I will be.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my little one.”

“Night,” Cato murmured, snuggling under the covers and letting his eyes fall closed at last. Zelda turned to remark how adorable Cato looked when he slept, only to find that Link had vanished, the sound of the door shutting downstairs her clue as to where he went.

Quickly descending the stairs, she bundled a shawl around her head and torso, grabbing an extra shawl and blanket for Link before heading outside. The wind had picked up now that the sun had fully descended, but even in the dark it didn’t take long for Zelda to find her husband’s special spot– the flat roof of the stable where Epona and Icarus were sound asleep.

“Link?” She clambered up beside him to find his form curled into a ball, his arms hugging his knees, his face turned away from her to stare out at the dark field behind the house. “You’re going to freeze out here,” she scolded gently, wrapping the Rito-woven blanket around his ice cold body. He did not shrug it off, but he didn’t look at her either. And Zelda in turn said nothing, but let her fingers stroke his head, her nails combing into his thick wheat-colored locks.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke before,” she said so softly that her voice could have been carried away by the wind. “I could not have known back then that you cared for me as much as I did for you. Or perhaps, I did not wish to see it as such for fear of your rejection. Or worse, indifference.” A small smile graced her lips, “You know, every day I wake up and can scarcely believe how fortunate I am. And how happy I feel to be surrounded by friends, a loving husband and a beautiful child. If you had told me a hundred years ago that I would achieve this dream, I would have never believed you.”

Link finally turned his head to look at her, his eyes dimmed with such despair that Zelda could hardly bear it. _“I’m not upset with you,”_ he mouthed slowly. _“I’m… so glad that you’re happy, Zelda. All I’ve ever wanted is to keep that smile on your face.”_ His hand came up to stroke the corner of her mouth with his thumb, before letting it drop limply.

“Link,” Zelda breathed, “ _You’re_ not happy though.” There had been a shift when they were talking with Cato, that was for sure. Link, who kept his emotions in check whenever he was around others, had shown signs of cracking in front of their son. Cracks that had never formed in speaking of the Calamity for eight years now.

She watched his fingers curl into fists, twisting the blanket in his grip, his shoulders beginning to tremble beneath her hands. His jaw tightened as his lips formed the words, _“It hurts. It’s hurt for so long.”_

“I know.” That apparently was the wrong thing to say, a frustrated grunt emitting from Link’s throat as he angrily unraveled himself, kicking his legs out in front of him and nudging some ice off the flat roof. “I harbor all of the same pain and guilt as you, Link–”

 _“Why?”_ he signed with sharp gestures. _“You have nothing to feel guilty for. Hyrule would have been wiped off the face of the earth if it wasn’t for you. You are the one who fulfilled your destiny one hundred years ago, not me.”_ He was shivering now, and Zelda suspected it was only partially from the cold, securing her arm around his shoulders again.

_“I could have done more. I should have done more. They might still be here if I hadn’t–”_

“Link, stop.” His wife’s other hand came up, clasping around his animated ones. “There was nothing you could have done. It all happened so fast, and you’re only one person.”

 _“I protected you over destroying Ganon. It was the hardest choice I ever had to make…”_ Tears rolled down his cheeks, warm and almost soothing against the wintry air. _“But I had to. I had to… let them all die…”_

“Come here,” Zelda soothed, turning him into her chest and tucking his head in the nape of her neck. For awhile, he struggled for breath as if fighting against something within, his nails clawing at her back as he gave in and clung to her. Then gradually, his wheezes became whines and finally puncturing sobs, the tension withering away in his body as he let Zelda bear him up. She rarely saw him like this, so raw and vulnerable, outside of the prison of his nightmares– terrors that they both shared and took in turns consoling the other back to sleep. But for him to blame himself for their friends’ deaths, her father’s death, the kingdom’s demise… he could not have been more wrong.

And yet there was nothing she could say to ease him, anymore than she could ease herself. So she started to hum, her lips every so slightly grazing his pointed ear. Zelda felt it flicker when the notes from her throat arranged themselves into a song. An ancient song long forgotten by the land of Hyrule, and Link’s memory began to stir.

But it was not a vivid vision of a century ago. It was hazy, surrounded by the bluest sky and the whitest clouds. A girl with a smile like the sun strummed a harp, singing the same tune in a voice quite different from his wife’s, yet the connection between them was unmistakable. He knew that girl. He had known her for years, centuries, millenia, perhaps even since the dawn of time itself. No matter who she was, she was still his Zelda. And everything he had ever done had always been for her.

But even as his weeping began to subside while curled up in Zelda’s embrace, Link could not shake the gnawing at the walls of his brain, growing more harsh as time passed. He was the hero who had failed. He failed to fulfill the prophecy, he failed his kingdom, and he failed his friends. And by the time he made up for his failures, it was far too late for them.

“There now,” Zelda whispered, using her shawl to wipe Link’s cheeks and nose, keeping his trembling form close. “You are the hero of Hyrule, Link. My hero. You kept me alive long enough for my power to awaken, and you weakened the beast so that he could be sealed once more.” She cupped his face to stop his dismissive head from shaking, “And I know that my father, our friends, and all the souls who perished in the Calamity are gazing upon us now and proudly declaring you as such.”

Gently, she turned him around so they were facing the second story window behind them. Beyond the frost seeping across the window pane, the two of them could make out the sleeping outline of Cato, still and undisturbed. “That boy… _our_ boy, will never see you as a fallen hero, nor a champion. Just as he will never see me as a princess or queen. Cato will only ever see you as his father, and I his mother. And that, my love, is our greatest victory of all.”

Link extracted a hand and pressed it to the window, letting it rest over his view of Cato while the other laced through Zelda’s fingers. _“I know.”_ He brought their joined hands to his heart. _“I know, in here. But… I need you to remind me.”_ His eyes found hers, a gentle pleading glittering in glowing blue irises. _“I need you.”_

“I need you, too,” Zelda nodded, watching their breath swirl in white puffs between them before the distance closed between their lips briefly. “And we will always have each other now, as well as Cato.”

_“And Shade.”_

“Of course Shade,” she smiled, pressing her forehead to his. “So ready your gear, Hero. Because our next adventure has only just begun.”

And far above their heads, above the winter clouds, four shooting stars streaked through the sky and landed near four different points in Hyrule— Rito Village, Goron City, Zora’s Domain, and Gerudo Town— their fragments ready to be found by three adventurous explorers come dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, but comments are better :)


End file.
